The Fire Within

by Samuel T Clayton

  ‘I was confused. There I was standing in front of a white man offering me compassion, while another, with the same skin and standing only a few yards away, had killed my parents, captured most of my people and sentenced my siblings to an almost certain death. I nodded, but before I could ask him to extend the favour to others, he told me not to say a word, not to stop or even look back once. When we were on the boat, he asked, “Did all the things that you have said back there really happen?” I replied, “They did.” He looked at me in disbelief, and I was sure he had never seen or heard of such a thing in his own tribe. “Very well”, he said. “You can call me Captain Harris, or sir.” And after he had given it some thought, he said, “And we shall call you George.”

  ‘You know the rest, how I learned to sail under that man and how I ended up in London. He was the one who taught me that, contrary to belief, all men are born equal, that all of us have a little bit of good and a little bit of evil in us, and we can choose which one prevails through the choices that we make in life.’

  Tristan had listened to his good friend open up for the first time and felt privileged that the man had shared his story with him. ‘So how did he, Captain Harris, buy your freedom?’

  ‘A cunning plan ‘twas. He’d told the Portuguese man, Jicho Moja, that before the day was over, their disembowelled bodies would lay strewn on the sandy beach because their Arab friends had something sinister in mind for them. After all, why would they buy slaves if they could just take them? He took me as payment for the information.’

  Tristan laughed. ‘A cunning plan indeed. And do you know if it was true?’

  ‘That, my friend, he never told me, but I have hoped for many years now that it was not the case and that one day, I would come face-to-face with Jicho Moja. Later that same night, true to his word, Captain Harris gave me a piece of paper. I couldn’t read it, but he pointed out my name George and the word free. Then he showed me that he had signed it with the date, 2nd October 1661.’ Jabari reached into the pocket of his shirt and pulled out a small flat tin box. He opened it, carefully unfolded the old parchment inside and showed Tristan the letter. ‘These are the only English words I can read,’ he acknowledged, ‘the only ones that matter. Right here, this does not matter, but anywhere else, I’m just another free man, even in the white man’s world.’ Jabari put it away and looked out over the jungle, ‘Out there, Nyegere, out there are my brother and sisters, I feel the rhythm of their hearts beating inside of me, like the African drums, now stronger than ever.’ The big African hit his chest with his fist. The rhythmic thud mimicked his beating heart. He suddenly stopped, then pointed out east. ‘Over there where the sun rose this morning – my people. One day I shall see them again.’

  Tristan struggled to comprehend what it would be like having a family with brothers, sisters and even cousins. Sissy was his mother, or the closest he had ever gotten to one. The whores were his aunts and sisters. Finn and the Hungry Ones were his brothers. The barber was the only real father figure in his younger life, apart from Mr Sullivan and the twins. Perhaps he was lucky because surely there were others worse off. Yet he had always struggled with his identity, and family gave a person exactly that – a sense of affinity. The African knew his roots and his past, and a sense of belonging made him who he was. But I, where do I belong? Tristan saw Jabari looking at him, and the African probably noticed the frown on his forehead.

  ‘Perhaps that’s enough sharing for today, Nyegere. We best get going and get down from here before the sun truly roasts our hides.’

  Tristan felt relieved but filled with guilt at the same time. His best friend had shared something remarkable and personal, and in return, he that is Tristan must still seem like a stranger to the African.

  They decided to head back the opposite way, down the western slope of the mountain and follow the stream back to the village. Descent was quick, and soon they found themselves next to a clear river with cobblestones, small white-water rapids and deeper pools that were teeming with fish.

  ‘At least if we were the lousiest of shots, we could always catch and eat fish,’ observed Jabari jokingly.

  ‘That reminds me of yet another item that we need procure but that I can get from the locals.’ Tristan’s list was growing, but at the same time, the cobblestones closest to the water’s edge triggered a vague memory. He veered off the track and scaled the steep riverbank using the roots of a large tree that reached all the way to the bottom.

  ‘Careful, Nyegere.’

  ‘Come down here. I want to show you something.’

  The African clung to the strong roots and lowered himself down onto the river sand next to the wide pool.

  ‘Have you ever heard of skimming stones?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘My friend used to say, well, his father used to say that life’s like skimming stones.’

  ‘Life?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘As a stone?’

  ‘That’s what I said!’ Tristan could not hide his irritation.

  ‘Perhaps you should first show me what this “skimming stones” is.’

  Tristan walked up and down the bank and finally found three round and flat river stones to his liking. He was not sure if he could do it anymore, but instinct took over as he crouched down and in one swooping motion let the stone fly. It kissed the surface of the water, reared up high, gently kissed it a second time and repeated the motion until it finally ran out of energy about twenty yards away and sank to the bottom.

  ‘Do it again.’

  It was like asking a child if he wanted another sweet jumball. Tristan repeated the throw. The joy that it brought was infectious, and by the time the flat stone touched the water for a fourth time, Jabari was also cheering it on. The third stone did not disappoint either.

  ‘Why don’t you try it?’

  Jabari had already picked up a stone and seconds later, it splashed into the water. Tristan took another turn, showing the big man exactly what shape of rock he needed, and how it should hit the water. The African roared with delight when one of his attempts reared up into the air only to repeat the same motion a couple of times. There was something magical about keeping a stone afloat. It defied the odds until it eventually got hauled in by the water, and the flat surface returned to normal once more. They threw a couple more and soon had a competition going to see how many times they could touch the water without sinking. In a moment of pure luck, one of the African’s stones kissed the water eleven times before it crossed the pool and disappeared into the reeds on the other side. He won.

  ‘So what do you think?’ Tristan wondered if the man could share any insight.

  Jabari threw another stone and together they watched it go through the usual motions. Then the big man said, ‘I think each person can see this for what he wants.’ He scratched his head. ‘But this is what I think your Mr Sullivan meant. Perhaps the stone is your life. And the water is all life, from when it all started until the day it all ends. When we’re young, we take long, powerful strides and can have great influence on the world around us. Then, as we grow older, we slow down until we eventually die. And for a wee moment, the people left behind will remember us by the ripples that we’ve created until they too disappear like that stone did.’

  Tristan shook his head. Jabari’s interpretation had been so plain, yet it sounded so true, and for a brief moment, he felt like an ass for never thinking about it that way. ‘It makes sense, Jabari, especially the last bit for in the end, we shall all die, whether we leave a legacy behind or not.’

  The big African threw another stone, finding it hard to believe that something so simple could bring so much joy. ‘Dying is part of life, Tresten. You can’t escape it, run away from it or wish it away. It will hunt you down whoever and wherever you are. We can only make the most of what we’ve been given, find our purpose in life and chase after it before inevitably, death catches up with us and we become the forefathers about whom our children and our children’s children
will write stories.’ Above them in the trees, two little green birds with red faces started a noisy conversation and briefly drew their attention. ‘I think that’s the part that still troubles you. You still need to find your purpose in life. But you can rest assured, Nyegere. I believe ‘tis not far away and that you will find your answer soon.’

  ‘And what about you, Jabari? What is your purpose?’ Tristan threw a rock at the two blaring birds above, sending them scattering for cover.

  ‘Mine is a simple matter. My only desire in this world is to find the man who stole my family from me and reclaim that part of my soul that he took away so many years ago by taking his.’ The dark shadow that played over his face made Tristan relieved that he was not the man that will have to face the warrior. ‘In London…no, earlier even. Captain Harris, who’s the only other person who has heard my story, had tried to teach me about forgiveness, about your God, but as I’ve told him, he had not been there to bear witness, and certain atrocities in life can’t simply be exculpated. Many nights he and I had conversations on the subject until eventually, we agreed to disagree. However, I did learn one important lesson from the man.’

  ‘Aye, what?’

  ‘Do you remember the day when you wanted to kill that chief at Ravenport?’

  ‘Yes, of course I do.’ Tristan gave a shy smile. It could’ve been so much worse.

  ‘Well, now you know why I stopped you. Captain Harris used to say, “If you find one bad apple in the orchard, you do not condemn the whole crop.” That’s why you don’t see me going around killing any Portuguese man that I see. No, I’m waiting for the day when I’ll be face-to-face with the man with the eyepatch – Jicho Moja. Only then will I unleash all the pent-up fury that I have carried with me for all these years and take revenge, not only for my family but for all my people. ‘Tis like a fire slowly burning, waiting for the right moment to erupt.’

  ‘I think I have that fire too, Jabari. I’ve felt it ever since I was a young boy.’

  ‘’Tis good to have fire inside of you. Every man needs a fire in his belly, Tresten. ‘Tis what drives him and what makes a man a man. It doesn’t just give meaning to life. Sometimes, it even gives life. My people believe if you don’t burn the fields after the harvest, the new crop will fail. But you have to be careful because this fire can also consume you, like a fire in the hold of a ship, which will not only take you down as the captain but also those around you. Your fire has simmered quietly, gently, for many years now. Then last night, the woman and that British captain…I could see it in your eyes. ‘Twas back. Your fire was burning brightly once more.’

  ‘How do I control it?’

  ‘You find the water, my friend. You need to find the water.’ The black man chuckled. ‘Last night when I saw you standing over that man’s body, I thought that we had lost you once again. But this morning ‘twas clear to me that you have found your water, your peace. So quickly. Then I realised Malaika had something to do with it. Perhaps she is your water, the water that will douse the flames when they burn too brightly.’

  Tristan nodded. It made sense. Last night when he was with her, there was nothing else but her. His worries, his anger, they had all dissipated.

  ‘We have spoken many things today, Nyegere. Just remember, every person has demons that plague his mind at some stage. Although you could try, sometimes you can’t keep these things hidden inside of you. You have to let them out, or else they’ll consume you. People like me, the doctor and perhaps even Malaika will always be there for you to listen, to help.’ Jabari started walking back to the roots and pulled on them as if to test their strength.

  ‘Thank you, Jabari. You’ve been a wise and trusted counsellor over the years. And Isabella, she’s a good woman. The question is, am I good enough for her? I’ve never committed myself to any woman, ever. To me, love is a foreign notion, something I’ve heard other people talk about and I’m not even sure if I’d be good at it or if I can even deal with that right now. But I also know she’s a good catch, and I’d be a foolish man to let her slip away.’

  ‘Confusion is part of love, my friend, especially the first time it grabs hold of you and rattles your insides. And you sound utterly confused, perhaps because she’s different – spirited, as you English folk call it.’ The African was enjoying this. ‘She likes you because you’re a strong man, Nyegere, not just in body, but also heart and mind. Remember, “faint heart never won fair lady”, or in this case, fiery lady, but then again, maybe in you, she has found the water for her fire.’ The black man chuckled once again before he kicked his feet into the riverbank and started to pull himself towards the top.

  ‘You asked me earlier how I was doing.’ Tristan could see the warehouse in the distance as they walked down the main street. ‘The honest answer is, I’ve never done something of this magnitude, so to tell you the truth, I am excited yet fearful if that makes sense. My mind’s racing with all the things that we need to do. There’s so much that I need to organise for the expedition. What troubles me most is that I can’t let a woman jeopardise all of that by taking my focus away from our true goal. Like you’ve said, we only have one chance at this. It needs to be planned properly.’

  They turned right, down a thoroughfare between two dockside buildings, and ended up on the wharf close to pier two.

  ‘You’ve already brought us this far, Tresten. Four good men have followed you into the unknown. Use us, like a good captain would use his officers to command a ship. You can’t do it all by yourself. You have a good mind on you, and we’ve all seen you put it to good use over the years. The captain would not have relied on you so heavily if you were just another tomfool. It sounds like you have a list in your head, so perhaps you could start today, make a full inventory of things to do and give it to us. We can all follow orders, and if we flounder, you can be there to set us straight. As for Malaika, you already have the answer. You need her, whether you admit to it or not.’

  Together they watched the dockers leave for lunch and their afternoon siesta in the shade of the nearby trees and shelters.

  Tristan nodded consonantly. ‘Thank you, Jabari. Your trust and wise words are accepted in the same manner in which they are given. Any man would count himself lucky to call you his friend. We shall do what you’ve suggested.’

  They made their way down the wharf to the last warehouse and found Hanlon and Tayler sitting in the shade.

  ‘Well, look who made it back!’ Tayler was genuinely pleased to see them. ‘Did you lads find what you were looking for?’

  ‘Aye. ‘Tis a vast expanse of wilderness out there. We’ve got our work cut out for us.’ Tristan got an idea. ‘Why don’t you two fellas go for a walkabout around town, see what’s where and find out what belongs to whom. I want to know who the other traders are, apart from Cuthbert.’

  ‘The molly?’

  ‘Aye, apart from the molly. Also what sort of goods they’re selling in the stores and at the market. Just don’t get into or start any trouble. And no buttering of buns. ‘Tis important that we gather all that information in time for tonight. Think you lads can handle that?’ Tristan challenged them.

  ‘Of course, we can.’ Tayler sounded intrigued. ‘What is so important about tonight?’

  ‘We have a few important matters to discuss,’ said Tristan, as he looked around inquisitively. ‘What happened to the doctor?’

  ‘Chasing some sort of lizard with one of his contrivances.’ Hanlon hinted at the bushes behind the firepit. ‘He said he would return within the hour and’ – he looked at his pocket watch – ‘that was about an hour ago.’

  ‘Alright, while you lads are off gathering us the much-needed intelligence, I’ll wait for his return or find him if needed. Jabari, perhaps you should join them. This being your country, your eyes will perceive things differently.’

  The African nodded his head and felt a tinge of gratification for he was starting to notice the change within the young man. While the men grabbed their hats and hid their
weapons, Tristan remembered that he also needed to sort out the accommodation. He hoped the merchant had managed to arrange suitable lodging and decided to make a quick dash into the warehouse.

  ‘By the way, Conway, that lass of yours came by earlier, looking for you. You must have made an impression on her last night. She seemed rather disappointed with your absence, even though she was in the presence of two handsome fellas like us.’

  A dismissive smile flitted over Tristan’s face. The lads, and especially Tayler, really knew how to pester him but at least he knew there was no malice intended. Besides, their playfulness would soon subside once the real work started. He headed into the backroom and knocked on the door that led to the back of the warehouse. No one answered, so he pushed and found the door to be locked from the other side. Back outside, he briefly watched the four hired negroes play a game with pebbles in small holes, which they had dug in the sand. When they saw him, they stopped and smiled sheepishly, knowing that there was nothing for them to do but wait. Tristan returned the smile. I need those interpreters, and fast. He made the long walk around the warehouse’s outside walls and through the large timber doors which stood ajar.

  ‘Mr Cuthbert?’

  There was movement at the back of the building, and then he saw Miguel walk towards him at a brisk pace.

  ‘Good day, sir.’ His English was eloquent, but he had a slight waver in his voice.

  Tristan quickly realised that he was still armed to the teeth and must look like he was there to kill someone instead of conducting business, especially now with the newly added scar on his face courtesy of Percival Bradford.

  ‘Is Mr Cuthbert not in today?’

  ‘He’s attending to business, sir — your business. Just wait, please, sir.’ The negro suddenly turned around, headed back to where he came from and returned moments later with a letter in hand. ‘This is for you, sir!’